Ryan understood the reference. There were mountains bigger than anything on dry land under the ocean, and the currents followed the ranges making rivers in the sea. A smart ship could catch one going in the right direction and save a shitload of time and effort. Sounded like just what they wanted.
“B-but, skipper,” a sailor said, weakly raising his heavily bandaged head, “that river goes by Forbidden Island.”
“We got a choice, swab?” The man made no response. “Thought as much. Forbidden Island, it is.”
“No way!” Daniels screamed, brandishing a fist. “We got smashed by the storm, captured by slavers, the captain dies, the Connie sinks and now this? The Jaluit River? You’ve gone mad, and I’ll not let ya chill us all!”
“Siddown,” Jones said, his voice low and dangerous, rising to his feet. “I’m still your captain.”
“Never!” Daniels spit. Hauling a blaster from his belt, he aimed the colossal weapon at the short man.
Quickly Jones drew his own hand cannon, but Abagail stood and made a throwing gesture. Daniels gasped as the knife hit his leg. Cursing, he turned the flintlock toward her, and a knife slammed into his lower back, exactly at the kidneys. Crying out in pain, he pulled out the knife and the red trickle became a crimson gusher. Sagging weakly, Daniels tried to aim for Jones again, dying by the heartbeat. A sailor in the skiff grabbed his blaster by the hammer, preventing it from discharging, and another yanked out the knife in his leg. Daniels recoiled and fell over the side to hit with a splash. He clawed at the lifeboat and was pushed away with an oar. Gagging on the saltwater, the dying man tried to stay afloat when the sharks arrived and violently finished the job.
“Anybody else?” Jones asked, pulling back the second hammer of his double-barreled blaster.
“We die either way,” a sailor said listlessly, the rest muttering unhappy agreement. “Guess it don’t much matter how.”
Taking his oars, Jak bumped Krysty and together they did a few strokes to keep the boats aligned for conversation. The other rowers did the same.
“What’s wrong with the island?” Ryan asked, relaxing his firing stance. Aside from liking Jones, the pint-sized sailor was their best bet to keep sucking air. He wanted the man alive.
“Don’t know for sure,” the captain replied, easing down the hammers of his piece and tucking it away. “Some folks say its bad air from the volcanoes. It’s got two, and you can see them smoking for a hundred miles away.” He glanced to the south, but there was nothing there yet. Just a wine-dark sea and endless stars on the horizon merging into the fiery clouds.
“Is death quick, sir, or do you cough a lot?” Doc asked, rubbing his unshaved chin. “We can easily make masks from our clothing and wet them in the ocean. That should last long enough for us to get by most deadly of noxious gases.”
“Been tried,” the short man replied hotly. “This air makes your hair fall out, then ya gums bleed, soon ya go faint then vomit out guts and die.”
“Rad poisoning,” Mildred identified, flexing her hands. Rowing was a lot harder than she remembered. The gamma radiation had to be off the scale.
J.B. touched the rad counter on his lapel. “We have a device that can warn us if we get too close.”
“Really?” a bandaged girl asked, noticeably perking up at the statement.
“Hey, toss it over and let me see,” a sailor asked casually.
Faint thunder rolled from the cloudy sky as Ryan glared at the man, and the sailor shamefully looked away. Damn idiot. He had to be the asshole who made it aboard after the skiff left the sinking ship. He made a mental note to keep a watch on the man.
“You show us the way,” Ryan stated, “and we’ll take the point position, guide everybody past the hot spots.”
“And if the currents carry us too close?” Abagail asked, hugging the till. “What do we do then, eh?”
“We die,” he answered bluntly. Thunder sounded again, and to the north the stars disappeared behind a wall of heavy rain.